


new romantics

by violetwreaths



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist AU, F/F, and sansa is her muse, wherein margaery is an artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetwreaths/pseuds/violetwreaths
Summary: keats, byron, shelley, girodet - none of them could compare to sansa stark and margaery tyrell when it came to the finest art of all; romance.a trilogy of vignettes chronicling three moments in their blossoming relationship.or;where margaery is an artist, sansa is a model and there's an indisputable frisson of attraction in the air.





	new romantics

**Author's Note:**

> title from taylor swift's 'new romantics' 
> 
> based on [this tweet.](https://twitter.com/sapphicvers/status/1133833930300416000)
> 
> this is a repost from my previous acc so if you recognise it, that’s why! promise i’m not plagiarising lmao

_to autumn_

The oppressive warmth of the summer had finally broken and Sansa couldn’t overstate how grateful she was for it. There was something about modelling in summer that she couldn’t stand, the way that everyone fluttering around her seemed to become a cloud of inescapable warmth. For all she had her mother’s warm colouring, she had her father’s Northern blood and she was built for the cold of winter.

Autumn was a perfect middle ground. The windows had been thrown open to let the cool breeze swirl around her dressing room as the makeup artists and hair stylists fussed around her. Sansa had started modelling in her first year of college to give herself a little bit of extra money and since then, it had only spiralled which was how she found herself at a high fashion show, about to walk for an up and coming brand, representing sustainable fashion.

“I heard the Tyrells have sent their youngest along to watch,” the make-up artist whispered, trying not to be caught obviously gossiping.

“Margaery? I thought she was in Massachusetts working with that women’s charity?”

“She was! She led their march and wrote this beautiful article about it, I’ll link you later,” the artist murmured, adding a quick coat of lipstick to Sansa’s freshly exfoliated and moisturised lips. Sansa obediently pressed her lips together when bid to and blinked her eyes open. If what they were saying was true, this could be huge. The Tyrells were practically a household name at this point. Olenna was one of the most well-known members of the Supreme Court, famous for her biting wit and her lack of patience for anything she deemed to be cruel or discriminatory. Sansa loved her.

Somehow, the entire family was just as driven and hungry for justice. It was admirable. Olenna’s grandchildren were all fiercely outspoken in their own ways; Willas, the oldest and a gentle man who was revered in his state as a beloved politician, Garlan, the next son and a defence lawyer who spent all his time working to free people imprisoned for minor infractions and Loras who used his well-curated social media feeds to educate a whole new generation. However, the men of the family did not hold Sansa’s interest for too long. Oh no, not when Margaery Tyrell was around.

The youngest of the family, their only daughter, was simply _radiant_. Not a single scandal had followed Margaery. She was known for being kind and warm to everyone that crossed her path and spent her time working with various charities, championing causes close to her heart, campaigning for rights for all those less advantaged than her. Sansa liked to hold her as a bit of a personal hero.

“Do you think she’ll be here?” Sansa asked curiously, tilting her head slightly - a bird-like movement, as she had been taught. All models were sparrow light in their motions, even in this day and age.

“It’s possible. There’s been buzz about the line,” her hair stylist piped up and Sansa felt herself flush a little.

“I’d like to meet her,” she said thoughtfully, resisting the urge to reach up and press her hands against her own cheeks to curb the heat.

“Does someone have a crush?” the stylist teased and Sansa forced a laugh, too high, to fall from her lips.

“Not at all! I just think she’s very cool. Especially because of my degree,” she said. It was as good an excuse as any. The team laughed lightly, thinking nothing more of it and carrying on with their prep for the show.

It wasn’t as if Sansa hid the fact that she wasn’t straight - and honestly, who in a gender studies course is? - but there was always a moment of fear when it came up, even though she had been out for years now. So, if she could get away with not admitting her giant crush on Margaery Tyrell, it would be for the best. Besides, there was no reason for her to think that Margaery - beautiful, graceful, warm and presumably _straight_ Margaery Tyrell - would ever show an interest in her.

No. Best to focus on the show.

So, Sansa did exactly that. She allowed herself to be swathed in pretty, high quality clothes that she could almost never afford on a student budget and she walked the catwalk like she was made for it. Long strides, head up, eyes bright, demure smile. Everything she had been taught.

Sansa often prided herself on how well she could keep her composure. She had spent time carefully crafting a facade, never letting people know just how much they could affect her. It was a protection thing, she thought. It was something that served her well on this particular occasion when she got halfway down the catwalk and, sure enough, spotted the elegant figure of Margaery Tyrell in the front row. Sansa didn’t even stumble, even as her heart kicked up into double time.

~

If there was something surreal about seeing Margaery at the front row of a show she was walking in, there was something even weirder about being halfway through letting her hair down and getting a knock at her dressing room door. Frowning, Sansa pulled the last of the pins from her hair and shook the fiery waves out around her shoulders before moving over to the door and opening it.

There, on the other side, stood the woman herself. There was something magnetic about Margaery’s aura. She was dressed simply, in a soft looking, well pressed summer-blue dress that reminded Sansa of the blue winter roses that her father used to grow, and with delicate caramel curls spilling over her shoulders almost haphazardly. “Sansa Stark?” she asked in a light, melodic voice that sent Sansa’s heart aflutter.

“I...yes! Yes, that’s me. Hello,” she managed to get out, suddenly self conscious about the white robe she had pulled on after stripping out of the clothes she had been wearing.

“I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to say that you looked beautiful out there today. You’re something special. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you,” Margaery said in return, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a slow, sly smile before she reached out to take Sansa’s hand in hers and squeeze it once. “You have wonderful things ahead of you.”

With that, she turned and breezed away, leaving a faint scent of flowers and fruits in her wake. It made Sansa dizzy, head spinning as she breathed it in like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea.

\----------------------------------

_she walks in beauty_

Margaery carefully leant forward as she worked, swiping a slow, deliberate coat of solvent across the Turner painting on her easel. She had been tasked with restoring _The Fighting Temeraire_ for the first time and it was a job she was taking exceptionally seriously.

With the windows cracked open so she didn’t go mad from the solvent fumes, Margaery had been in her studio all day, carefully using solvents and cotton buds to clean off the top layer of varnish and any surface dirt. It was an agonising process but she enjoyed it all the same. Plus, the considerable fee she was taking for the work was all getting sunk into the charities she was patron of so it was all for a good cause. Somewhere around the fifth hour, Margaery stood and stretched out, shrugging off the old white button down she tended to wear over her clothes when painting. She was tempted to take a break and go for coffee but she figured that the man she shared her studio space with would be in soon so she grabbed her phone from the windowsill and shot off a text.

_Hey T, are you headed in yet? If so, would you pick me up a decaf latte with oat milk? Will pay you back, of course! Thanks, M x_

Sure enough, within about five minutes, Margaery received a photo of the man himself holding a tray of four different coffees and giving a thumbs up. She had no idea who had taken it or who the other coffees were for but she had long since learnt that it was best not to ask. She’d doubtlessly find out sooner rather than later. Until then, she’d get back to work.

The door flew open and Tormund came striding in, practically filling the entire doorway. “Little rose!” He called and Margaery stepped out of the bathroom from where she had been washing the worst of the solvent from her hands. Seeing him, she grinned warmly.

“Tormund! You better have brought my latte,” she laughed, even as the taller man swept her up in a giant bear hug that nearly crushed her bones.

“Yeah, course I did, little one!” Tormund enthused, gesturing wildly over his shoulder as a slim, dark haired man entered. “The crow has it,” he added.

The crow, as Tormund called him, was a man by the name of Jon Snow, the illegitimate son of the esteemed Ned Stark. Margaery knew of him and knew he was friendly with Tormund but had never had a chance to see him properly in the flesh. “Jon! A pleasure, Tormund talks about you often. I would shake your hand but you look like you’re quite occupied,” she laughed lightly, stepping forward to take her latte. “Thank you for the coffee,” she hummed, taking her first indulgent sip.

“The crow brought his sister - she wanted to see what we were working on. Is that okay?” Tormund asked, already dragging some of his own materials out. Margaery half turned back to the group.

“Of course, that’s fi- oh! Sansa, hello,” she smiled at the redhead who was lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

“Margaery. Hello. I didn’t realise you shared with Tormund?” The statement came out like more of a question and Margaery laughed brightly.

“I do, yes. I like the company. How are you?” she asked gently, setting her coffee down next to the jar holding her solvent mix - _note to self; do not get those confused_ \- before returning her attention to Sansa. The redhead had drifted over to stand by Margaery's easel, looking for all the world like she belonged there. Jon and Tormund were too engrossed in their own conversation about the sketch Tormund was halfway through to worry about what Sansa and Margaery were up to. 

“Well, thank you. I just wanted to see the place that Jon and Tormund talk so much about and I thought now was as good a time as any so I….” she trailed off, hands clasped around her own coffee, and Margaery tilted her head curiously as a quiet awe lit across Sansa’s features.

“Sorry, I took a history of art module last year. Is that the _Fighting Temeraire_?”

Margaery smiled proudly and nodded. “Turner’s very own. I’m doing some restorative work on it,” she added after a beat.

Sansa nodded and smiled reverently. “It’s beautiful, you’re doing so well with it. It’s one of my favourites.”

“I’m so glad it has your seal of approval then,” Margaery hummed teasingly, picking up her coffee again to take a long swig. “You look beautiful as ever, Miss Stark,” she added honestly, just to watch the soft blush creep up on Sansa’s cheeks.

That rose pink was fast becoming her favourite shade. “Thank you,” Sansa murmured and Margaery grinned in response, a flash of white teeth.

“I hear you’ve been volunteering at the Women’s Foundation downtown?” she asked, waiting for Sansa to confirm with a gentle nod before carrying on as she leant back lightly against the stool she liked to sit on while painting. “I’ve been working with them for a while and I’m taking a brief trip to Washington to meet with some politicians from around the country to see if we can instate better infrastructure for these charities. You’re in your final year of your gender studies and politics degree, yes? I read all about it in your model bio at the show last month.”

“I am - I’m working on my thesis proposal right now,” Sansa said, suddenly alight with passion for her course. Margaery liked that, the sudden fire in those blue, blue eyes.

“Perfect. I’d like a companion. Would you be willing to come along? Think of it as a field trip. If you’d like, we can meet for dinner tomorrow to discuss the details,” Margaery offered, a slow smile twisting her lips. It was a risky offer but she knew all too well that you would never get what you didn’t ask for.

“I...I would love that. Dinner sounds perfect too,” Sansa stuttered and Margaery clapped once in delight.

“Perfect. I’ll make reservations for tomorrow. In the meantime, would you like to watch some more restoration?”

\----------------------------------

_love’s philosophy_

See, this was the thing. If it wasn’t 2019, Sansa would say that she was being _courted_. In the few weeks following their trip to Washington - which Sansa had adored, especially getting the chance to see Margaery’s political mind at work - Margaery had gotten in contact with her various times to offer to take her for dinner and on trips.

It was surreal.

Sometime in the first week of December, Sansa found herself out shopping with her mother, the pair of them strolling arm in arm as they debated exactly what they should be getting all of their family members for Christmas.

“I still think we should get Arya that block of fencing lessons she’s been desperate for. Or you should get her that and I’ll get her a new punching bag to hang in the gym downstairs,” Sansa hummed thoughtfully. As they weaved elegantly through the crowds in the vast plaza of the mall, Sansa pulled her phone from her pocket to check her messages. She’s halfway through replying to the meme that Robb had sent her when her mother grips her arm a little tighter.

“Sansa, honey, is that Margaery Tyrell coming towards us?” she asked, voice pitched a little higher. Catelyn Stark, for all her virtues as a mother, was far too intuitive for Sansa’s liking and had definitely worked out Sansa’s large crush on the older woman a long time ago. Sansa snapped her gaze up from her phone so fast she was certain she would give herself whiplash and, sure enough, Margaery was strolling towards them casually, fluttering her fingers in a gentle wave.

Sansa steadfastly did not think about what else those fingers could do.

“Sansa, my darling, hello!” Margaery greeted brightly as she came closer, stepping forward to press a delicate kiss to Sansa’s cheek. “And this must be your mother. It’s pleasure to meet you, Mrs Stark,” she said warmly, turning to extend a hand to Catelyn. Sansa blinked as Catelyn took it and shook it gently.

“And you, Miss Tyrell. You’ve long been a topic of conversation in our house,” Catelyn said with a wry smile and Sansa groaned, cheeks flushing.

“Is that so?” Margaery laughed brightly, tucking one of her curls behind her ear gently. “Sansa is a delight, truly. I got to meet her at one of her shows. She’s very talented,” Margaery smiled softly at her mother and Sansa felt her heart flip.

“We’re very proud of her,” Catelyn nodded. “Do you two know each other well?”

Sansa shrugged and Margaery smiled softly at her. “Not nearly well enough. Actually, I was planning to call - the art gallery displaying the _Temeraire_ is debuting it today. I was wondering if you’d like to come along and see it.”

“The _Temeraire_?” Catelyn asked curiously, glancing at Sansa.

Finally finding her voice, Sansa nodded quickly. “Yes! Margaery was in charge of the restoration process while it’s being displayed here. Isn’t that cool?” She smiled warmly before turning her gaze back to Margaery. “I’d love that, thank you.”

“Oh! Well, that’s a big deal. Sansa, honey, you go on ahead now - I’ll finish up here,” Catelyn smiled softly.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Margaery murmured and Sansa shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. Mom, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Sansa said gently, dropping a kiss to her mother’s cheek and whispering a gentle thank you to her before stepping back. “Lead the way, Miss Tyrell,” Sansa laughed, moving to Margaery’s side.

“I certainly will,” Margaery laughed, looping her arm through Sansa’s before glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll have her back before midnight, Mrs Stark!”

Catelyn’s amused laughter followed them as they practically ran into the crowds.

~

It was a relatively short walk to the gallery but made to seem all the shorter by Margaery’s bright stories and easy laughter and warm smiles. Sansa spent the entire time thinking that perhaps her little crush was turning into something a lot more difficult to control and far more terrifying. She was trying not to think about it. The fact that she was even friends with Margaery was special enough as it was.

So, as they wandered around the art gallery, with Margaery murmuring gentle facts about each painting and era, Sansa focused solely on the way her voice lilted across each word or the quiet awe that painted the other woman’s face when she passed a particularly beautiful piece.

It was endearing.

Even more so when she tugged Sansa by the hand to stand before the _Temeraire_ , whipping out her phone as she did so. “Just stand there. I want to take a photo of you both,” she said with a shy laugh. Sansa flushed warmly but did her best to pose, smiling demurely for the camera.

That was, until Margaery lowered the phone a little and offered her best impression of Tormund, deepening her voice and grinning almost maniacally. “Morning, little rose!” she husked out and Sansa couldn’t help the burst of laughter that leapt forth. She heard the click of the photo being taken as she laughed and, as Margaery showed her, she had to admit that she had never felt more beautiful than when she was being seen through Margaery’s eyes.

“You look beautiful, Sansa. Truly,” she said quietly, staring at the photo fondly. Sansa let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and shrugged a little. “Come with me. I have something I want to show you.”

Sansa nodded quietly and laced her fingers with Margaery’s, allowing herself to be pulled through the gallery into a quiet wing, filled with paintings from the early 1800s. They had passed through it earlier, Sansa remembered. Margaery had murmured words about romance and Romance and the like. She wondered why Margaery had brought her back.

They stood before a beautiful painting and Margaery smiled up at it before turning to Sansa. “This is Girodet’s _Pygmalion_. It was painted in 1819, the peak of the Romantic era.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa murmured.

“Of course it is. It reminds me of you,” Margaery replied. Carefully, she moved into Sansa’s personal space and Sansa froze. “Stop me if you’re not okay with this.” And with that, Margaery rose onto her tiptoes, cupped Sansa’s cheeks with her hands and kissed her.

In all her favourite sappy rom-coms, they spoke often about seeing fireworks when the person they loved kissed them. Sansa didn’t see fireworks, her heart didn’t burst, none of those cliches applied. And yet, she felt like she could cry from the joy of it all, from how gentle the other woman was being. Sansa wrapped an arm securely around Margaery’s waist and kissed her back, long and slow and deep.

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read as a companion piece to the wonderful [bornofsulfur's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornofsulfur/pseuds/bornofsulfur) lovely fic, [ songbird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020067) which you should all check out! 
> 
> please feel free to drop me some comments here or yell at me on twitter about this if you fancy - i'm there as @sapphicvers!


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